Fallen Embers
by VictorianCaul
Summary: Liz Sherman recoils back, and realizes the fire can be her enemy.


Fallen Embers  
Liz Sherman recoils back, and realizes the fire can be her enemy.

Notes – This short fic is based off the Animated Universe, though it has comic-based undertones. Liz's relationship with her inability to control her powers interested me. What must it be like to have limited control over something that can destroy so easily? 

Disclaimer – All characters are ultimately copyrighted Mike Mignola, and are the property of Darkhorse Comics.

Rating – It's safe. K+ just for a bit of violence, death, and language.  
-- 

Her ears found themselves too occupied by the buzzing whirlwind of multiple bullets to notice the yelling Frenchmen shouting profanity in his mother tongue. Had she heard him, she would have understood why he felt the need to curse above the deafening racket. Hell, had she not been used to terrifying sites, she would have joined in her own English. Giant monsters were just a part of the job for an agent of the Bureau for Paranormal Research and Defense.

The howling hellhound ravaging the town was enough to send most of the people away, and whoever remained behind wished they had not.

The Beast of Gévaudan was too much for France. The BPRD monitors held up, but it proved to be none too difficult to locate the beastly canine. All the agents had to do was follow the line of bodies down the dark corridors of what used to be a bright city.

The Beast was known for attacking those who strayed too far from the city after dark. No one noticed when a few persons went missing over the course of a month. Once a child lost her life, it only then sent the people into panic. French children had to be in by sun down and closed safely in their rooms. Mothers chanted their Hail Mary while fathers barricaded the doors. There were always the few who never believed, and most of them met their end at the paws of the massive dog. Those who survived the doctors diagnosed as psychotics. Now, no one doubted.

Fortunately, for France, Director Manning saw the danger the Beast of Gévaudan presented, and sent a handful of agents to take care of it. Unfortunately, Fido was not going down easily.

"Damn it." Liz Sherman threw herself around the side of the house, not stopping to reach for a reload until her back hit the wood. Bullets were doing no good, and the agents were beginning to look worse for the wear. Agent Branson fell to the hellhound; a gruesome sight. The man had had a family who now could only look forward to a box of his belongings returning home. The array of bullets that claimed the sky as the others began shooting at the dog grazed Agent Mackman, and the guns were having little effect on their target. Its wounds wept and occasionally it bent to cast a caressing tongue to them between gnashing large jaws at its adversaries.

Liz bit her lip, gaining a satisfying click as she successfully reloaded her gun. A sharp gasp inhaled as the hulking piece of metal raised itself to her eyes. She counted to three, something she secretly did whenever worry started taking hold. Lunging out from the side of the house, Liz's leg almost bent too far as she took aim at the Beast of Gévaudan. Several shots were fired. Nothing. It did nothing but agitate it further and draw its attention to her.

In the back of her mind, Liz feverously wished that Hellboy had accompanied them on the mission. The big, bad wolf was just asking to have itself smacked around a bit. The higher-ups at the Bureau felt his presence was more suited for a run-in with the Mothman of West Virginia.

Great. Just great. Stick her with the ravaging rottweiler from hell, and let Hellboy battle a big bug.

One of the BPRD soldiers, Agent Jackson, picked himself up off the ground and reached for a grenade. He could only pray that the French were out of the way, as he could not think twice before pulling the tip off. The malicious hound howled, its flesh searing under the hot flash. Teeth gnashed and claws plowed forward, swiping the man into the house.

"Agent Jackson?" Liz called out, but her fellow worker only groaned in response. "Damn it," she repeated, drawing back behind the house as the creature narrowed its vision and locked in on her figure.

The Beast of Gévaudan. Under its special folder in the BPRD desk should have read "bullet proof." Liz hated it when bullets could not hold monsters back. Give her an undead zombie to blow a head off any day. Something with teeth like this? It certainly did not make her top-ten list.

As Liz turned her head to look at the status of the situation, her eyes widened at the sight of two women and a man running across the roads in a desperate, late attempt to get away from the Beast. "S'il vous plaît nous épargner !" they hollered, screaming in fright as the hound's ears perked up. It turned its head to them, and prepared to pounce. "Le tuer !"

If her gun and grenades failed to kill it off, what was she supposed to do? She could call in for backup, but it would take the new round of agents too long to get there. By the time they'd arrive, everyone in the area would be in the stomach of the Beast.

Thoughts and ideas rushed too quickly for her brain to process. Think, think, and think fast. The cries of the French were too distracting. God, she had to do something.

God help her more, she knew what she had to do.

The gun found its home on her belt, but no buckle in place. Liz gathered up her spunk and stepped out, breathing out as her curse summoned up into view. The fire awakened, curling around its keeper in protection and defense. It was always like that, unnervingly comforting. She closed her eyes, allowing it to blanket about her before catching the eyes of the Beast of Gévaudan.

Her eyes opened, glowing in a matter that perplexed the dog. Perplex turned quickly into pain as the flames leaped into the air and attacked the creature that dared challenge its host. The black fur singed easily and it cried as seared flesh bubbled. Liz was mesmerized; she smelled nothing, her ears temporarily dropped deaf, and her eyes blinded by oranges and yellows. It was beautifully cold, caressingly familiar.

It did not register that the bones of the Beast of Gévaudan now engulfed in fire, dropping down into the dirt for burial. The cries of the surrounding men and women did not process in Liz Sherman's mind as the fire claimed the air.

--

Glasses were removed, and Director Thomas Manning moved a hand up to rub his eyes. Years of stressed built up there. If he did not fall from a stroke, surely a heart attack would cross him later in life. "We've talked it over with the ambassador of France. They agreed that what happened had to be done."

Federal personnel raised her head, keeping her hands crossed over a knee. "Twenty-seven people died, including three of your own agents. Our relationship with France will not falter." She took a moment to look into the tired eyes of the BPRD leader. "I don't like these most recent trips I've had to make here, Director Manning. Please keep a better track of what your agents are capable and incapable of doing. We can only clean up these messes so many times."

Director Manning gave a swift nod and stood up alongside of the personnel before offering her the door. No other words exchanged. Tom did not like meeting with the federal government under strained circumstances. More than that, he abhorred having to make phone calls to the families of fallen agents. It was part of the job, and almost regular on cases dealing with monsters as dangerous as the Beast of Gévaudan. However, having agents die by the hands of one of their own was hard for everyone to bear.

Stepping outside of his office, Thomas Manning cast a long look about the desks before him before settling on a familiar face. "Professor Corrigan." He stepped up to her side as the aged woman cast a glance over her shoulder, sparing a moment between shifting from work piece to work piece.

"Meeting didn't go too well?" Kate recognized the tone of her superior. She'd heard it enough times in the past to know what was wrong with Tom even before he said it. She knew that quirk of his stood out terribly.

He gave no answer, but followed with a question. "Is all of the paperwork on Gévaudan finished?" When Kate reassured him it what was not completed was being taken care of, Tom pushed the loose strands of the hair by his ear back. It was a nervous habit, and he only hoped his agents never noticed it. "The families of Agents Mackman, Jackson, and Emerson have been notified. There wasn't enough left of the bodies to bury, so please send their belongings to them."

"Of course." The news of the agents' deaths upset Kate. She'd known Agents Jackson and Emerson well enough, and had cast them a hello or wave whenever she spotted them in the hall. She also knew how hard Liz must have been taking their deaths.

As if reading her mind, "Where's Liz Sherman?" Behind his hard-edged exterior, which was often a put-off to the enhanced-forces agents, Professor Corrigan understood that Tom was worried about the condition of Liz. Both of them dealt with the girl's out-of-control pyrokenetic powers before, though Kate on a much more comforting level.

Kate answered, "She put herself in one of the containment rooms."

"Are there prepared staff on hand?"

He received a quick nod. "They're keeping an eye on her. She didn't seem too hurt from the mission." Kate knew well enough that the absence of physical wounds didn't exclude her comrade from psychological scarring.

"Keep me noted on her status and whereabouts." Director Manning turned back to his office, steps shuffling over the tapping metal. He only stopped once, as if something told him to further explain himself. He did not know why. "I really do care, Kate."

Kate gave a sad, lopsided smile. "No one's saying you don't, Tom."

The Director did not look back again before stepping into his office, closing the door tightly behind him. Katherine doubted they would see him again until the next mission meeting called, but she did not blame him. Instead of standing in place and thinking about that, she collected her trained conscious and went to fetch some boxes.

-- 

Watching steel-plated walls rust had become a guilty pleasure of hers. It had been years since she caught up where she left off. There wasn't much progress. She had not missed much. The people outside would call her crazy if she ever admitted that. What else could she do? Sit and think about the lives she destroyed? That was exactly what plagued her mind. No wall could catch her attention enough to erase that memory. Nothing could wipe out the screams and violent images that she had been so dull to before.

It was the worst feeling, after the fire died off. It always was. When the flames engulfed her, she was immune to everything around. Nothing could harm her while she was protected, but once the fire decided to recoil there was nothing there to shield her. She saw the mess she had made. What an awful mess it had been.

How did they punish her for it? The federal government did not see her criminally responsible for any of the deaths. They never did. The lost agents were understandable, collateral damage. As long as the monster died, any end justified the means.

They would not even let her see the victims' families. A small part of her was, regrettably, thankful. What could she possibly say to them?

Liz Sherman was never good at making peace with the consequences of her actions. They all still haunted her, and no amount of self-pity ever drove them away. As long as the fire claimed her as its body, she would have to put up with the forever restless spirits as well. They were her demons in tune with a curse bestowed unwillingly.

So wrapped up in her thoughts, she failed to hear the approaching footsteps or the body parking itself next to her. "Liz? Liz?" 

After another moment of gathering recollection, she blinked and looked up. Abe. Liz had not realized she had been grabbing hold of her hair so long. Red locks entangled through her fingers. Her scalp suddenly felt very sore.

"Liz, do you want to talk?" Abe. Her friend was sitting next to her, and she needed to turn her attention to him. Casting her glance back, she noticed. He never bothered to wear the ridiculous suit that the various unnamed watchers donned whenever she took to seclusion. They were so afraid that she would suddenly spiral out of control and kill all of them. Maybe they had some reason to worry.

Abe was never afraid of her, worried that she could kill him with the loss of a single thought.

The amphibian's face was straight, a structure without movement. Liz could see worry. She knew him, knew how to read an unreadable face. In the back of her mind, she questioned whether he knew she could spot his features. They had certainly known each other long enough to pick up certain quirks about each other. 

Liz remained silent, but she released hold of her hair. Abraham took that as a sign of communicating.

"I know how uncomfortable you are in here, Liz." Abe was familiar with the woman's connection to the containment room. When she had been a child, Liz found herself directed in whenever the fire inside decided to untangle itself without harness. The BPRD would lock her in for several days, deathly afraid for the first twenty-four hours that she would not be able to keep level. Eventually, she learned to escort herself.

"It's where I need to be right now." She rubbed her arm, suddenly unable to keep herself still. She wished she still had that pillow from all those years ago, but they removed it when she accidentally seared it with smoke. She had not meant to, but it seemed they never got around to replacing it.

Abe's head titled. "Why?"

"I killed those people, Abe."

"You didn't mean to."

She blinked, and cast Abe a dark look before shifting her focus back to the wall. "That doesn't make it better." She choked back a sigh, rubbing her arms again. Suddenly it was very cold. "It's never made it better."

Abe did not have to ask. They did not bring up the subject of the victims a lot – especially her parents and little brother. It usually only came up when Liz's fire became too out of control to handle. Moments like this. Every time it looked like she was getting better, getting better at what she could control and maintain, something terrible happened.

He felt sorry for Liz.

"I never asked for any of this." Liz now looked down at her left hand, which still grasped her exposed arm with comfort.

"Have any of us?" Abe understood that Liz's coming to terms with being a specially enhanced human being were shaky, at best. Hellboy knew he was human, and Abe accepted being a freak. Liz was different, and had always been different. Unlike her formers, she could hide among the normal as much as she pleased, and no one would give a second thought. She never realized she could receive the same treatment from the Bureau.

Liz Sherman recognized the direction of the question. Hellboy and Abe were good for that, to put her in place in terms of just what levels of freakiness there were. Sometimes she hated them for that, but most of the time was appreciative.

In a move unexpected of her, Liz leaned her head against her friend's shoulder, finally releasing her sigh. Her eyes remained at her hand, but focused on nothing that could be seen. "What happens if I can't learn how to stop this? How to control it, Abe?" When an answer remained blank, she continued. "I burned those agents, those people."

"You can control this." He sounded certain, without doubt. "You're strong, Liz."

Her eyes became fixated. She could feel Abe's hand across her upper arm, and used it as an invitation to lean closer. She had forgotten how it felt like to want to cry. "What happens when I burn the Bureau?" She caught her breath. "What happens when I burn you?"

Abe's gills fluttered but he lingered without trouble with her question. Instead of leaving Liz with any doubt, he gave her arm a comforting squeeze.


End file.
